Eric Clapton: Slowhand at the Crossroads. ‘In order to keep what I had, I had to give it away. In order to stay sober, I had to help others get sober. This is the main principle that governs my life today.’ — Eric Clapton
Eric Clapton performs on stage at Royal Albert Hall on May 17, 2011 (Photo by Marc Broussely/Redferns) Getty Images Standard editorial license
On September 20th and 21st 2019, Eric Clapton held his fifth Crossroads Guitar Festival. The event was held to raise funds for the Crossroads Centre in Antigua. An extraordinary array of guitar talent, seldom seen in one location at one time, appeared before packed audiences at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, Texas. The audiences were treated to two days of extraordinary musicianship and musical collaboration. Many of the performers seemed just as starstruck as members of the audience.
Crossroads Guitar Festival, September 20-21, 2019 Credit: Weldon Turner, September 20, 2019
While the Festival was an extraordinary event from a musical
perspective, what made the event even more special was the cause—funding for
the treatment of substance and alcohol addiction.
Mr. Clapton’s story, as chronicled in Clapton: The Autobiography
and the feature length documentary Eric Clapton: Life in 12 Bars, is marked
by rejection, emotional pain, despair, and tragedy that fueled a decades-long
addiction to drugs and alcohol. It is also a story of ultimate victory and
triumph. The Festival, and the rehabilitation centre it supports, symbolizes a
journey where gut-wrenching tragedy was transformed into a positive and inspiring
force for good.
‘On My Own’
On March 30, 1945, a sixteen-year old girl, Patricia (Pat) Clapton, gave birth to a baby boy in the wooded county of Surrey, just south of London, England. The baby’s father was not present. The 24-year old married Canadian soldier had returned to his native country while Pat was pregnant.
What does ‘mainstream’ mean in a deeply divided political environment? Is there a liberal bias in mainstream news? In an op-ed written for the Christian Post I examine recent news coverage of CNN and other ‘mainstream’ outlets, and its potential impacts on a free flow of ideas between groups with opposing viewpoints.
Muhammad Ali arrives at federal court in Houston for his trial on a charge of refusing to be inducted into the Army.
What does it take for someone to stand for what they believe in? What does it take for someone to sacrifice for what they believe in? What does it take for someone to literally sacrifice their liberty, their very life for their faith? In the film, Hacksaw Ridge, Desmond Doss enlists in the army and is faced with these questions right from the get-go. Muhammad Ali is faced with these questions in the prime of his fighting career, and thousands of others have faced these questions for centuries.
When I think of the term ‘conscientious objector’, Vietnam and the young men who refused to join the conflict immediately crowd the imagination. Images of long haired hippies, in tie-die tee-shirts, ‘turning on, tuning in, and dropping out’ [1] in the streets of San Francisco and New York City in the late ‘60s, holding peace signs an decrying the evils of the War, are synonymous with the term.
Hacksaw Ridge
The 2016 Academy Award Winning feature film, Hacksaw Ridge, portrays the life of a conscientious objector that could not be farther from that image. Desmond Doss was working at a shipyard in Newport News, Virginia, [2]. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour in December of 1941 he was determined to serve in the military, yet would not compromise his faith as a Seventh-day Adventist. This meant adhering to two commandments that would cause him great difficulty. He would not kill, and he would observe the Sabbath. Consequently he refused to carry a weapon, let alone fire one, and requested a pass to attend church on Saturday. Continue reading For A Higher Power: From Hacksaw Ridge to Muhammad Ali→
Miracles from Heaven. The Beam family and filmmakers, 2016
The movie Miracles from Heaven is based on the true story of a young girl, Annabel Beam, who suffered for years with two digestive disorders. One day while climbing with her sisters, she fell headfirst into the hollow trunk of a tree. While the events that ensued may raise the suspicions of the skeptic, they are just as likely to reaffirm the faith of many–particularly of the film’s intended audience–and perhaps speak to a few of those skeptics as well. Continue reading To Heaven and Back II: Miracles from Heaven→
Every Christmas the music of the Hallelujah Chorus fills our churches and concert halls, is streamed over the radio, television, and on Social Media. Originally intended as an Easter work, the oratorio from which it is taken, George Frideric Handel’s Messiah, has become synonymous with Christmas around the world for over two and a half centuries.
Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell are two of the most iconic theatre and film productions of the past fifty years that are based on the life and death of Jesus Christ. They portray a Christ that resonated with the culture at the time, and exposed two very different views of the Messiah, views that are as relevant today as they were when first produced. Continue reading Jesus Christ, Timeless Music Star→
Movies based on Biblical stories and characters have been extremely successful in the past. However the 2016 motion picture treatment of Ben-Hur—a retelling of a best-selling novel, a long-running play, and one of the highest grossing movies in history—has met with poor box office receipts at its North American release this month. Why? In the 1950s, Biblical epics were among the most profitable movies released up to that time. And among these films are at least three in which Christianity is viewed through a positive lens. Has the appetite for ‘Jesus-friendly’ epics changed? I’ll argue that the audience for Christian-based films today is fundamentally different from sixty years ago, and this difference may be an example of a growing divergence between the secular and the religious in today’s society, especially when compared to the middle of the twentieth century.
In this piece I’ll take a look at three films, extremely successful in the past, and sympathetic to the Christian faith. They are Ben-Hur, The Robe and Quo Vadis.
I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. How could he have gotten that score? As I approach the car, the engine automatically starts and the right side door, the one closest to me, pops open. As soon as I sit in the cheap cloth seats the seatbelt automatically wraps around me. Even though it’s thirty degrees in the car-waiting area, it’s cool in the vehicle, the natural temperature in the car’s ergonomics program.
‘Where to?” Siri asks.
“Home.”
We glide out of the waiting area to the main street. Sometimes I wish Siri would speed up a bit. Can’t she tell that I’m in a hurry? I have to talk to somebody about this, or this is going to drive me crazy.
Madison? My mother, his only daughter? She would be the obvious person to handle this. I’ve got to tell her about this. Somebody’s gone and screwed with her own father.
“Call Madison,” I practically yell at the centre console. I pull a bottle of water with a twist of lemon out of my bag and take a long gulp.
The call goes through, but the voicemail returns. “Leave a message.” My mother was never one for words. “Yeah, Madison, it’s me. Listen, I…” I don’t know what it is but something inside, that small annoying voice in my head—I don’t know where it comes from—tells me to hold on. Why, I don’t know. Just think about this for a while, before you bring her into this. After all, she’s been acting kinda strange lately, ever since you started visiting him more frequently.
“Yeah, Madison. Just saw Pops. He says to tell you hi. Talk later. End call.”
Don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s fifty-five years old, looks twenty-five, but sometimes acts like a five-year old. I take another swig of the lemon water. The scenery zips by outside the windows and the lower glass door panels. Inside the cabin is as quiet as can be. At times like this I’m glad for the silence.
Another five minutes and the silence is unbearable. I’ve got to talk to somebody.
My car pulls into the car-waiting area of the Regent Retirement Village and finds a spot about seventy metres from the front door, under a grove of trees. The kind of spot that I’ve selected among its list of rental preferences. A blast of hot air slaps me in the face as I step out and turn towards the building. The car resembles a massive grey egg on wheels. The whisper of the electric motor shuts down and the door closes and locks automatically.
As I approach the front door of the two-story building the tinted green glass doors slide open with a hiss that’s barely more than a whisper. There is a receptionist’s desk but no receptionist. Instead there is a microchip reader that resembles a small notepad, and an LED screen. I make a fist and hold my wrist over the reader. A woman’s voice emanates from the screen.
“Resident’s name.”
“Elijah Keeper.”
“Your relationship.”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
“For security. What is the resident’s date of birth.”
“January first, two thousand and one.”
“Name of resident’s first partner.”
“Evangeline Keeper.”
A plastic badge silently protrudes from a slit under the reader. My likeness stares back at me. Underneath the likeness is my name, time and date of sign-in: Three forty-seven p.m., Sunday, July 21, 2080. Another set of ghost doors slide open on my right. Pops, here I come.
The Regent Retirement Village is more like a holiday resort than a retirement home. Past the lobby area, you enter through a pair of glass doors to an atrium. Natural light filters through the glass domed roof, from the entrance area, past the administrative offices, all the way to the rear and the first floor suites. As you enter the atrium, to the left are two tubular elevators with glass doors. I take the first to the Level Two suites. The units open to a long balcony that the residents use as a walking path that wraps its way all around the second level. Residents in groups of twos and threes chat quietly and look over the balcony down to the activity on the ground level. The second level is the envy of the entire complex.
Here it is, Room 2C.
There is a numeric pad on the door. I enter the visitor code.
“Come on in, Ayana.” Pops’ voice is now becoming thin and brittle. The door slides opens onto a small living/ dining room. At the far end, through another set of sliding glass doors, Pops is in a flannel bathrobe sitting at a small table on the veranda. His cane is resting against the table. I pass through the living/ dining room and open the veranda door. A blast of hot air practically pushes me back into the air-conditioned living room. Thank God, I wore my shorts and a t-shirt.
“How are you, Precious?” He holds my hand as I throw one arm around his shoulder and plant a kiss on his forehead.
“That’s a question for you, Pops!”
“Oh I can’t complain.”
“Never does any good anyway, right. They treatin’ you good?”
“Uhm, I guess.”
“You’d tell me if they weren’t, wouldn’t you, now?”
“Uhm, I guess.”
“Why don’t you sit inside? It’s burning up out here.”
“Oh I don’t mind the heat.” He looks away at the sky. “So many fancy new drones and AAV’s nowadays. It’s like getting to a point now where there are traffic jams in the sky. I can’t believe there aren’t more accidents.”
I reach into my purse. “Brought you a present.” I place a small cardboard box on the table. “Open it.”
“What’s this,” he says, eyeing the box.
“Open it! I printed it especially for you.”
He slowly reaches for the box and opens it. “A watch? What do I need another watch for?”
“It’s not just a watch. It’ll only work when it’s on your wrist. And if you just tap this button here, then this one, it automatically alerts me. It’ll tell me that it’s more than a telephone call. It’ll tell me to come and get you right away.”
“Why? Why do I need this?”
“I want you to know that you will always have me, Pops. I never want anything bad to happen to you. I’ll always be your Ayana.”
“Why all of this all of a sudden? Who’s been talkin’ to you?”
My shoulders stiffen and a slight chill shocks my body. I could never hide anything from those all-seeing eyes. I tug at his chair and roll it out a bit. “Here, let me sit on your lap.” His eighty-year-old eyes are as clear and bright as ever. He extends his hand. It is cold and clammy, even though it must be at least thirty degrees out here on the veranda.
“There’ll be coming for me soon, you know, I can feel it,” he says.
“I know you didn’t mean what you wrote. We all do. Why don’t you just apologize? I’m sure you’ll be able to come home with me. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll be safe.”
“I hope you’re right, Precious. But my days are numbered. I’m sure of it. Whenever anyone has said anything good about Fallstead, bad things happen. Every time.”
You just made a mistake. You know you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it. Just apologize, and sound like you mean it, and you’ll be okay.”
“Not sure that I can do that…”
“Why not?”
Just then there’s a buzzing sound and he pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Yes, Bess. Come in.” He turns to me. “It’s Bess, with my medication.”
I clutch my bag. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No, don’t,” he says, with a steel rod in his voice, but his old hands can manage only a gentle squeeze as he grasps my wrist.
The nurse approaches with a small bag. “Hello, Bess,” he says.
“I didn’t realize you had company. Hi, Ayana.”
I ask her how she’s doing.
Bess extends her hand and I take it. “I can come back later if you like,” she says.
“No, no, no. It’s quite all right. Ayana doesn’t mind.”
I start towards the cool of the living room. “While you’re doing this I’ll get out of your way. There’re a couple of calls I’d like to make.”
Inside I close the door behind me. There are two ottomans in the living area. On one of them is a thin glass or polymer pane, about twenty centimetres by twenty-five centimetres. Bess’ notebook. I shoot a quick glance out to the veranda. She’s talking to him, holding his right hand.
I can’t help myself. I slide over to the notebook. It’s open. There’s a long list of medical terms that I don’t understand. It looks pretty good though—there’re a lot of lines in green font. That has to be good. No red font anywhere. Good for you, Pops! You’re going to be around a long time. At the bottom of the screen, the page counters shows ‘2’. I slide the screen to the right. The first page of his profile appears—a 3-D image of his unsmiling face, and general information. Birthdate, most recent address, closest relative–Madison Keeper. Occupation, yearly income, lifetime income, net worth, volunteer activities, length of stay at the Regent Retirement Village, key life accomplishments, and…oh, my God! This can’t be true!That PV Score! That Personal Value Score!? How did you get such a low PV Score? This’s got to be a mistake.
Outside Bess is still holding his wrist. Did Pops know about his score? Is this why he was so depressed? Pops, what’s going on here?
The writers and stories behind ten of our most beloved and influential hymns.
Contestant sings hymns on way to winning The Voice 2015 season
All Creatures of Our God and King – St. Francis of Assisi A Mighty Fortress Is Our God – Martin Luther Doxology (Praise God from whom All Blessings Flow) — Thomas Ken Christ the Lord is Risen Today — Charles Wesley Amazing Grace – John Newton Battle Hymn of the Republic – Julia Ward Howe Blessed Assurance – Fanny Crosby Jesus Loves Me — Anna B. Warner Great Is Thy Faithfulness — Thomas O. Chisolm Take My Hand, Precious Lord — Thomas Dorsey
From St. Francis of Assisi’s, ‘All Creatures of Our God and King’, to Thomas Dorsey’s ‘Take My Hand, Precious Lord’, hymns written to the glory of God have encouraged, sustained and uplifted people of faith for hundreds of years. Here are the stories and writers behind ten of the most beloved and influential hymns written for the glorification of Jesus Christ.
All Creatures of Our God and King Words: St. Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226 English translation: Henry Draper, 1855-1933 Music: From a German hymnal in 1623, the Geistliche Kirchengesang
All creatures of our God and King Lift up your voice and with us sing, Alleluia! Alleluia! Thou burning sun with golden beam, Thou silver moon with softer gleam! O praise Him! O praise Him! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
St. Francis of Assisi was born Giovanni Bernardone into a wealthy family in 1282. After serving as a soldier and engaging in behaviors and indiscretions that ultimately proved unrewarding, he experienced a spiritual awakening, and dedicated his life to serve Jesus Christ. He renounced his father’s wealth, and proceeded to live out in the open, in nature, if you will, dressed in rags, working for, and sometimes even begging for food. [1] A group of young men joined Francis. They traveled the countryside preaching the Gospel. St. Francis would go on to found the Franciscan Order of Friars. A female follower created the ‘Poor Clare’ order of nuns.
